


Fever

by kiexen



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Sick Fic, Sickfic, this is just 2.1k words that had no plan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 11:12:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19197610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiexen/pseuds/kiexen
Summary: Aziraphale slipped the key he had just previously used to let himself into the flat back into his pocket. “Crowley?” He called. There was no response. The angel tried not to worry, but the silence unnerved him. He hadn’t heard from Crowley in a week, and he missed their weekly lunch date. Which he never does. Sometimes, he may be late, but he’s never not showed up, not in the six months since the Armageddon-that-wasn’t.





	Fever

**Author's Note:**

> I had no plan for this other than "I am in a sick fic mood and burned through all I could find for them, so I'll write my own, but I have no real destination"
> 
> I've never wrote anything for Good Omens before, so I'm still trying to find out how to properly write them. I also haven't written anything in general since late 2017, so I'm likely very, very rusty. On that note, there is no beta. I have no friends who have read/watched it yet to beta it for me anyway.
> 
> All that said, I hope you can enjoy it anyway!

Aziraphale slipped the key he had just previously used to let himself into the flat back into his pocket. “Crowley?” He called. There was no response. The angel tried not to worry, but the silence unnerved him. He hadn’t heard from Crowley in a week, and he missed their weekly lunch date. Which he never does. Sometimes, he may be late, but he’s never not showed up, not in the six months since the Armageddon-that-wasn’t.

               Strong in his conviction the demon was here somewhere, (the Bentley was parked outside; there was no way Crowley would go anywhere without it. Especially since they’ve been avoiding doing miracles as much as possible) Aziraphale wandered deeper into the weirdly warm flat, calling his name a few more times. He shoved down a wave of panic when he passed Crowley’s plants, who were, for once, not shaking in fear and rather looking as though they’ve gone several days without anyone even looking their way, let alone doing anything that would instill fear in them. They shrunk away at his approach, but very quickly relaxed when they realized it was only Aziraphale.

               Finding the living area (if it could much be called that, even with Aziraphale spending more time here and trying to make it feel homier) empty as well, he knocked gently on the bedroom door with a soft “Crowley?” accompanying it. When he received no response, he delicately pushed the door open.

               What Aziraphale found simultaneously eased his worry and increased it tenfold. Crowley was passed out on the bed, with likely every blanket he owned (which, was not many), cocooned around his curled-up form. What the angel could see of him, he had the appearance of one who hasn’t moved in days, his face ashen and as though he was not voluntarily unconscious.  “Oh, dear,” said Aziraphale quietly, moving closer to perch on the edge of the bed next to Crowley. Placing the back of his hand against Crowley’s forehead he began to fret again. He was burning up. *

               Aziraphale got up and left the room, quickly coming back with a cool, damp towel and a glass of water, he placed the glass down quietly on the nightstand before gingerly laying the towel across Crowley’s forehead and settling back down next to him. He ran his fingers through the demon’s hair soothingly for a while, pausing only briefly when he feels him stir vaguely under his touch. Crowley mumbled something that may have been an attempt at his name. “Dear?” He replied, softly.

               “Hng… Wha…. R’you do’n here?” He slurred quietly, trying to sit up.

               The angel pushed him down gently. “No, don’t try and move, my dear. And, I, er, was worried about you when you missed our lunch date and wouldn’t answer or return my calls. So, I thought I would stop by and… Check up on you.”

               “Is… Is it Sat'rday already? ’m so sorry, but 'm fine, angel, I jusst slept in, real—” he was cut off by a hacking fit that shook his whole body. Aziraphale rubbed his back softly until he stopped.

               “My dear boy, I beg to differ.” Crowley didn’t say anything in response, just groaned softly and moved closer, pressing his nose into Aziraphale’s leg.

               “…… Mmmwarm,” he murmured, shivering. “’Sssss nice.” ** There was something else after.

"What was that, dear? I didn't catch the last part."

"....Noth'ng. I didn't sssay anything." A few silent moments pass before Crowley shivered violently again and sighs. "Okay, alright, I assssked if you could come closser. Warm," he added, as if he needed an explanation. A smiled pulled at Aziraphale's lips as he wordlessly shifted and moved to settle down into the bed, opening Crowley's cocoon to worm his way inside. Crowley immediately snaked his long limbs around Aziraphale and shoved his whole face into the angel's side, letting out a soft sigh. Aziraphale resumed running his fingers through Crowley incredibly soft hair***, lulling the demon back to sleep quickly.

 

*~*

                When Aziraphale blinks awake blearily later that evening (he doesn’t remember falling asleep), the room is blanketed in the golden light of twilight streaming in from the windows behind the bed. Glancing down at the sleeping form next to him, he feels a different warmth spread through him, not dissimilar to the warmth he felt surrounding a certain little town all those months ago. They had shifted while they slept, so that now Aziraphale can feel the soft puffs of Crowley’s breathing against his neck, sending soft shivers down his spine. The light halos around the sleeping demon and for a moment he almost looks… Holy. Aziraphale can’t help but watch Crowley sleep, drinking in the sight.

                The moment is broken all too soon for the angel’s liking, as a cough cuts its way through Crowley’s body, startling Aziraphale into remembering that he was sick. Rubbing his back, he frowned lightly while waiting for the fit to subside.

                “Ngh… Zira?” Crowley rasped quietly.

                “Yes, my dear?”

                “Can…” If Aziraphale was paying close attention, and he was, he would have noticed the demon flushing ever so slightly, as if embarrassed he had to ask for something. “Can you… Get me a,” a cough, “a glass of water?”

                “Do you want it cold? I grabbed a glass earlier and was going to make you drink it, but, well, you fell back asleep before I could.”

               “Lukewarm is good.” Aziraphale helped Crowley into a sitting position (an action which was met with groans from his counterpart) before grabbing the glass and handing it to him. Crowley took it from him with shaky hands, and curled into his side more, nursing the glass. Aziraphale took the time now to press his hand against Crowley’s forehead again, checking on his temperature, Crowley leaning into his touch ever so slightly. Still feverish, but at least he’s more coherent now.

               “Dear, how are you feeling? Other than the fact you still have a fever.” Aziraphale asked, as he migrated his hand from his forehead to back in his hair.

               “Sore. Tired. My throat hurts.”

               Aziraphale hummed softly. “Would you like me to make you some tea, to try and sooth your throat?”

               A sheepish look crossed his features briefly. “Maybe.” The angel kissed his head before carefully attempting to detangle himself from Crowley. Standing, he swept out of the room and towards the barely used kitchen as Crowley huddled back against the headboard, still nursing the water.

               A short time later, Aziraphale made his way back into the bedroom, a loud sneeze erupting from the lump on the bed as soon as he steps in the room. “Almighty bless you.” He said automatically, without a thought, as he set the cup on the stand next to where Crowley had discarded the now empty glass. The lump snorted. Aziraphale sat back down on the bed, gently pulling the covers away from Crowley’s face, the latter shivering (and, though he’d deny it, hissing a little) at coming back in contact with the open air. “I’m sorry, dear, but you’ll have to come back out in order to drink this.”

               Crowley muttered something that may have been along the lines of ‘don’t want to’ but slowly sat up and leaned back into Aziraphale anyway. He handed the demon, who’s expression was something akin to sulking, the mug. He took it carefully, hands still shaking. “Thank you, angel,” he says softly, almost barely loud enough to hear.

               “Of course, my dear.” Back he went to petting Crowley’s hair. They sat like that in comfortable silence for a while as the room darkened around them, as Crowley focused mainly on not dropping the mug or spilling the tea, and Aziraphale watching to make sure if he does, he’ll catch it, the only sound breaking the silence is the occasional cough from Crowley.

               Eventually, Crowley started nodding off again. Aziraphale gently took the mug from him and sat it on the nightstand before carefully pulling Crowley back into a laying down position. It doesn’t take long for his breathing to even out as he drops back into sleep. Closing his eyes, Aziraphale pulled the blankets around them tighter before drifting back off himself.

*~*

               When he awakes next, he is alone. Rubbing his eyes, Aziraphale shuffled out of the bedroom in the early morning light. Following a gentle and repetitive clinking sound, he found Crowley, in the kitchen, on the floor, eating a bowl of cereal.

               “Hi,” he said, waving the hand holding the spoon idly.

               “Hello,” Aziraphale replied. “Dear, why are you on the floor?”

               “Gravity’s a bitch.”

               “Language,” The angel tuts, without any real emotion behind it. The demon just hums in return.

               “A little more context, I woke up hungry, thought I had enough strength back to come eat a bowl of cereal. Got a little dizzy while making it so I just. Sat down. Can’t fall if you’re already on the floor, right?”

               “I suppose so,” he agreed, settling down next to him. “How do you feel elsewise?” He asked, as he moved to check Crowley’s temperature again.

               “Better. I don’t feel as horrifically cold anymore.”

               “I should hope so; it seems your fever has broken.” Aziraphale pulled his hand away. “I have a question, dear.”

               “And I may have an answer, angel.”

               “How long were you sick before I arrived?” The inquiry is met with silence, and Crowley refuses to look at him. “Crowley.”

               “I, uh… It wasn’t long at all, just uh, the night before,” he mumbled, still not looking at Aziraphale.

               “You’re a terrible liar. How long was it _actually_?” Aziraphale frowned. “ _Crowley._ ”

               Crowley shrunk down, clutching the now empty bowl as if it will protect him. “….IthinkitstartedWednesday.”

               “What?”

               “I said,” he repeated, “I… Think it started Wednesday.”

               Aziraphale stared at him dumbfounded. “ _Wednesday?_ Why didn’t you call me when it started? I would have come over and helped you sooner.”

               Crowley sighed. “I know you would have. I didn’t want to bother you. It started so small, I figured I could handle it on my own. It went downhill fast and then next thing I knew; I had no strength to even keep my eyes open let alone find my phone and call you.” Aziraphale softened, he couldn’t stay mad at Crowley, especially when he still looks so wrecked. “I’m sorry, I really am, I thought only hours had gone by, not days, I didn’t mean to ghost you and then miss our lunch date.” Crowley had an expression similar to that of a kicked puppy. It pulled at Aziraphale’s heartstrings.

               “Oh, my dear, it’s quite alright, I’m not mad,” _at you_ , went unspoken and unnoticed, “I just wish I could have helped more, and you didn’t have to spent days suffering alone.”

               A small, almost smiled played at the edges of Crowley’s lips. “You helped plenty, I’m… Grateful you came barging into my flat, uninvited, just because you were worried about me,” he joked, finally turning his head to face Aziraphale. “But seriously, thank you. You didn’t have to stay; I surely wouldn’t have known you’d have even showed up. But I’m glad you did.”

               “You and I both know there’d be no way in Heaven I would have turned around and left.”

               Crowley snorted. “Yeah, alright, point taken.”

               “But, you’re welcome, my dear.” Another comfortable silence fills the space between them. “Hey, what would you say to a little change of scenery? You’ve been cooped up in here for days, that can’t have been fun.”

               “I don’t know if I’m up to doing anything quite yet, angel.” Crowley said slowly, before yawning, almost as if for emphasis.

               “I didn’t mean go and do anything, just change your location. You could come over to the bookshop, that way you can still rest. Or we can just stay here. It was just a suggestion,” Aziraphale shrugged. Crowley smiled (the sight filled the angel with more of that Other Warmth from before, as it was a soft and fond smile reserved solely for him) and slowly raised his arms above him to stretch.

               “Alright, let’s go then.”

 

  


*If pressed, Aziraphale would say Crowley’s temperature was inching closer to his own, which, by all accounts, is telling of how bad off the demon is.  Demons, by nature, are very cold creatures; colder than humans, contracting angels who are much warmer. There are exceptions, but that is the norm.

 

**Crowley would, under normal circumstances, be mortified that he said that out loud, with a hiss no less. Luckily for him, he won’t remember much of anything he says. Or so he’ll claim.

 

***Not that Aziraphale has much history touching other demon's hair, but he'd be willing to bet Crowley's hair is the softest of them all.

 


End file.
